I like to write! I do not 'have' fandoms, I typically just latch onto a character and then absorb any content related to them, so my masterlist boutta be a Mess.
come say hi if you want! whether i do requests is based on if i'm in the mood, so do not expect speedy responses.
mdni! i am an Adult and i do not want weeuns running around my blog. shoo.
I didn't grow up on the internet so I do not care actually at all if you harass me, you'll get a pretty boring reaction of "blocked." if you're looking for a battle go to twitter or smthn.
My smut is like suggestive at best, I personally think non-sexual intimacy is hot af so there will be a lot of that. Don't even @ me about including smut, I will for real just block you. It's tumblr, and if you're on tumblr you're probably on Ao3. Plenty of food for you over there. i have an ao3 under the same url where i post longform fics.
Long awaited, but no Johnny smut just yet. Soon, I promise. (And Kyle will be back. It's been so long since he's gotten to smooch our dear reader.)
Also! A little reminder than you can check the queue to see what I plan to post for next. I try to update it often as the worms wiggle. Next I plan to do the final chapter of Greater Bad. (Unless I get my not-so-secret, no-longer-a-surprise oneshot out first)
Lastly! Please note that I wrote the "posts" from his perspective. So inconsistencies with the actual story and any grammar/spelling errors were purposeful or for "authenticity".
Content:
Brandon.
r/CakeEater
_OnBrand_
I asked my fiancé for an open relationship before marriage. It worked.
A while ago I posted on r/adultery about the affairs (yes, multiple) I was having behind my then-gf’s back. We’d already been dating for ~4 years and I was seeing one of my coworkers (my “work wife”) regularly and one of her coworkers on and off.
People on my other post were critical and called me all sorts of things like selfish and pig. I know it’s not traditional, but I genuinely don’t think I could ever be satisfied by one woman. My work wife (Rachel) and fiance’s coworker (Lucy) provide things my fiancé just can’t but I still love my fiancé. She’s the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.
When I posted on r/adultery I was trying to figure out how to propose without her finding out. I knew she’d expect me to help with stuff and possibly want to look at my phone more often. It would have been harder to sneak off to meet up with Lucy or Rachel with wedding planning and I was sick of being stressed she would find out.
Some nicer people on the post suggested I ask for an open relationship. I took their advice and sat her down to sell the idea. It’s a good thing I’m so good at sales (top 3% in my company for 5 years in a row) because she agreed.
Yes, actually agreed.
At first she got kind of pale and her eyes got really big and blank. I thought for sure she was about to start crying and run off. Maybe even kick me out. She doesn’t really get angry but she gets upset and it freaks me out. After I explained everything about how good it would be for us though, she agreed.
This is my official unlimited hallpass.
I’ve been seeing Rachel on weekends and Lucy once or twice during the week for drinks. Tonight I’m going to sign up for every dating site I can. Tinder, Bumble, Hinge. If anyone has other suggestions, I’ll check those out too.
Fiance has been kind of off but I think it’s just an adjustment period. Sometimes I can tell she’s been crying but she hasn’t come to me about it so she’s probably just being emotional about all the changes. At least she’s got our house to focus on while she gets used to things. I feel a little bad about running out every night but she’s just so mopey and sad all the time and it’s not enjoyable to be around. I know she probably feels like I’m abandoning her a little but once she starts getting back to normal I’ll spend time with her again.
You really can have your cake (all the cakes heh) and eat them too.
Edit: no, I never told her that I already had Lucy and Rachel and I’m not going to. What good would it do? She’s already agreed to an open relationship and telling her that I didn’t have permission first would just hurt her for no reason.
Kyle’s been gone for two (long, lonely) weeks when he finally gets a chance to call. So far, he’s only been able to send scattered texts at odd hours. Always something sweet – telling you he’s alright, or that he’s thinking of you. Sometimes you even catch him for a brief exchange before he apologizes and “goes dark” again.
Not that you begrudge it. This is part and parcel of dating him and you knew that going in. You’re not complaining when he’s putting his life on the line so that the public can live in blissful peace.
That doesn’t stop you from missing him though. His hugs, his smile. Getting his voice - even roughened by distance - is a nice compromise though.
“How have you been holding up, chickadee?” he asks after the initial reassurance that he’s whole and hale.
“Easier this time!” you answer proudly. “I know what to expect with you gone and Johnny’s good company.”
“Yeah?” he asks, sounding pleased.
You can just imagine him now, leaning his hip against the nearest surface, arms crossed over his broad chest. He tends to duck his head when he smiles, and you unintentionally grin to yourself, thinking of him hiding into his phone. God, you miss him.
“Mhmm! We found a board game bar that you’re going to love. Oh, and we’re going to the Hay Festival this weekend.”
He hums. “I’m sorry I can’t be there to take you, luv, but I knew Johnny would be good to you.”
More than good to you, really. There’s not been a day he doesn’t call to check up on you - if he doesn’t see you in person, that is. Dinner, movies, coffee. He’s somehow both a gentleman and an incorrigible flirt, but only with you. He’s nothing more than polite to anyone else, keeping his focus on you and whatever the two of you are doing.
You don’t know what to do with the undivided attention. If you didn’t know better…
“You two are getting close,” Kyle observes.
“I think so,” you admit, then hesitate. “Is… that okay?”
“‘Course, luv. I’m glad.”
You blink. “You are?”
“He’s my best mate and you’re my best girl.”
An odd pang of anxiety pierces your chest. Johnny calls you that too. His “best girl.” You love hearing it - but maybe you shouldn’t?
“It… doesn’t bother you? That we’re spending so much time together.”
He snorts softly, but it’s not derisive. It’s a noise he makes whenever he thinks you’re being silly, but his voice comes out soft and warm. Not an ounce of condescension.
“No, baby, I’m not fussed. You spend your time with whoever you want, however you want. Yeah?”
Your chest floods with warmth. “Okay.”
“There’s a love. I’ve got a brief, so I have to go. I’ll call soon as I can.”
“Be safe, Ky.”
“Do my best. Give Soap a smooch for us, aye?”
You blink as he hangs up. That’s a new one.
You ponder over it while packing on Thursday night. Was it just a joke? A tease at the little crush you’ve developed for Johnny?
Because it is a crush, you know it is. It’s impossible not to be attracted to him. Not with that smile, that laugh, the goofy humor and sweet mannerisms. He still sends you flowers every few weeks - just as the previous ones are about to die. It’s so thoughtful; you’ve started feeling a bit warm every time you look at them.
But you feel greedy, being even remotely interested in anyone else. You have Kyle and Brandon (even if you two are going through a… patch) and that should be enough for you. Shouldn’t it? You’ve never been with more than one person at a time before; it took you weeks to shake the compulsory guilt when you first met Kyle. It feels almost unforgivably audacious to want Johnny too, especially since he’s Kyle’s best mate.
Still… Kyle’s not a jealous or passive-aggressive guy. You’ve been with him long enough now that you know he’d just tell you outright if he was unhappy about something. And he’s been with you long enough that he can surely tell you’re more than a bit fond of Johnny.
Maybe that’s why he made the joke about “smooching” him.
Regardless, you want to talk to him about it. Things always make sense when you think out loud to him. His levelheaded and practical approach to difficult topics always straightens your panic spirals out into neat lines.
Plus, it’s not as comforting to hold your own hand. (God, when is he getting back?)
“Where are you going?”
You blink up at Brandon, folded pajamas in hand.
“The Hay Festival,” you answer.
Speaking of - you slip past him into the bathroom. He doesn’t follow, rooted to the spot spinning his phone around in his hands.
“Alone?”
You snort. “Of course not, I’m going with a friend.”
The allergy pills are at the bottom of the medicine basket beneath the sink. You really need to organize it the next time Johnny’s too busy to hang out. There’s no way you need three bottles of paracetamol.
“I need that suitcase.”
You toss the bottle in and pivot for the dresser. “What for?”
He shifts, eyes sliding away. “An… overnight.”
Ah. That’s what he’s calling it now?
You snatch a few (too many) pairs of underwear from the dresser.
“Just bring them here,” you say over your shoulder.
There’s a long, tense beat of silence but you’re too busy rummaging for socks to break it first. Will it be too warm for thigh-highs? Eh, you’ll go with the sheer ones; the little lace roses match one of your dresses anyway.
“Bring who here?” Brandon asks slowly.
When you turn, he looks paler than usual. You shrug, trying to project casual comfort.
This is a totally normal and reasonable conversation to have. Just a couple in an open relationship, discussing a stranger coming to the house for a shag. Nothing to make a fuss over.
“Whoever you need the suitcase for? I know you’ve had people over before anyway, and I’ll be gone all weekend.”
He stutters, color returning to his face in bright pink blooms. “Why do you think I’ve had people over before?”
You arch an eyebrow. “I do the laundry, remember? And there was lipstick on one of the wine glasses.”
That had sent you into a tizzy at the time, disgusted that some stranger was in your bed, with your fiancé. You washed the sheets twice on the hottest setting and tossed in a bit of bleach for good measure. Hadn’t been able to look at him the whole week - not that he was there much to not look at.
Now, though, you seem to have adjusted to the idea, even if you’re still not thrilled. Brandon can have his… whoever over, and you’ll goof around with Johnny in Wales.
“Just toss the bedding in the wash afterwards,” you add.
“I thought you do the laundry,” he sniffs.
“I’m not traveling all day just to do chores when I get home,” you answer. He does a double take like you’ve started speaking a new language. “You’ll be here all weekend, I’m sure you’ll have time.”
He opens his mouth, and you can tell already that he’s about to argue - though you don’t really know what about. It’s not like he can’t do laundry or dishes, after all. He lived alone before you moved in together.
Thankfully, his phone distracts him before he can form the words. He spins away to tap at the screen and shuffles out of the room, shoulders till tense. You go back to packing and teasing Johnny about the amount of hair gel he’ll bring.
Friday afternoon can’t come fast enough. Even though you’ve taken a half day from work, the few hours seem to drag. You’re practically daydreaming about the food and drinks, music and activities. There’s a baker’s dozen art stalls you want to check out as well, and a gift to pick out for Kyle…
“Hope yer thinkin’ o’ me when ye make tha’ face.”
Your head snaps around so fast, you nearly give yourself whiplash. Johnny grins down at you in all his casually handsome glory – ripped jeans, green tee, and brown boots. Angels are singing somewhere, you think. Or maybe that’s just your nosy coworkers ogling from their own cubicles.
The reality of him sinks in a moment later and you leap up from your cushy chair – and right into his arms. He’s like a furnace compared to the cool, conditioned air of your office, a welcome source of warmth for your chilly fingers.
“What are you doing here?” you giggle. “Who let a rowdy guy like you in?”
He smells like bergamot and pine. It takes active thought to resist pressing your face into the crook of his neck. It looks cozy there.
As always, he squeezes you a bit tighter just before letting go.
“Hey now, Marcy’s a discerning lady. She knows a fine gentleman when she sees one.”
You snort, belied by the smile curling your lips. “She may need new glass then.”
“Och, don’t go talkin’ poor about my second-best gal now.”
“Is it that easy to get in your good graces?” you scoff, glancing at the time on your computer. It’s later than you expected; no wonder he came up to retrieve you. You spent so long daydreaming that you’ve lost track of time.
“Aw don’ be green, dove, you’re still my number one. Send ye flowers ‘n all.”
You roll your eyes at him. “Yeah, and now I’m wondering just how special that is.”
He stands close, proclaiming his case for how obviously special you are while you shut everything down for the weekend. You’re only half listening to the bit, admittedly. Mostly just basking in your excitement for the mini road trip and the weekend to come. You have no doubt that it’s going to be fun, even if it would be better with Kyle along too.
“Where are you headed off to?” Lucy asks.
“Hay Festival,” you answer shortly.
You’ve never been a big fan of Lucy, but lately she’s been insufferable. Talking over you during meetings, leaving you out of emails, throwing away papers at the printer. (Okay, you haven’t seen her do that last one, but you know.) Worst of all, she can help but make backhanded comments about every flower delivery.
“You’re not taking Brandon?” she simpers. “Something wrong?”
“He’s hanging out with a friend this weekend too,” you correct, “and he doesn’t like hay.”
“Shame that,” Johnny adds, sounding like it’s not a shame at all.
You haven’t told him much about Brandon – but you’re sure that Kyle has. From the face Johnny makes the rare times your fiancé comes up in conversation, he doesn’t think much of Brandon.
“Have fun you two!” your manager, Selene, calls.
You wave and shoot Lucy one last, unimpressed glance before stepping onto the elevator with Johnny.
r/CakeEater
_OnBrand_
My fiancé is going on a weekend getaway with another man.
I’ve posted in r/adultery and r/cakeeater before. I’m not looking for judgement or insults here. I really just want advice.
A little context: my fiancé and I are in an open relationship and it’s been like this for a few months now. I originally asked her to ope the relationship and for a while she was weird about it but lately she’s been getting sbetter. I thought she was finally getting used to me going out with other women and things were getting back to normal.
A few weeks ago, I noticed she was on her phone more. Like, all the time. Even at dinner when she used to be really picky about phones at the table. One day I came home from work and she was talking on the phone to someone. Giggling and laughing. When I turned the corner she was kind of blushing too. It kind of bothered me but I figured she was talking to a friend and just hot from cooking or something.
Lucy texted me pissed off one day, asking why I was sending my fiancé flowers but not her. I told her I hadn’t sent any flowers. I think they’re way too expensive for how long they realistically last and that they take up a lot of unnecessary space. But I thought it was weird that someone was sending my fiancé flowers and got kind of uncomfortable. That’s a pretty romantic gesture and her family isn’t the type to randomly send flowers either.
I tried taking her out on a date but she was all mopey again and turned her phone to ‘do not disturb’ so I wouldn’t even see if she was texting someone. We don’t have much to talk about now. I love her but she’s not a good storyteller or into very interesting things. All her ‘funny stories’ are just mundane things that happen during the day. We’ve run out of interesting topics about because we’ve been together so long. (That’s why I like having more than one partner.)
Yesterday she randomly started packing for a trip. I don’t even think she was planning to tell me until I asked her. She was packing a bunch of cute clothes too. Like dresses and tights and things like that. Stuff she only used to wear on our dates. I asked who she was going with and she just said ‘a friend’ which is weird because she would usually say the name of someone even if I don’t remember who they are.
Well today Lucy sent me a picture of my fiancé leaving her job with some guy. I couldn’t see his face because he was turned away, but I could see the side of my fiancé’s face and she was smiling at him. I got this awful sinking feeling in my chest like it was hard to breathe. It took me a few minutes to process that she’s going away for a weekend with a complete stranger.
Doesn’t she know how dangerous that is? Where did she even meet this guy? They’ll be gone all weekend so are they sharing a room? A bed? I nearly threw up thinking all these things as I called her.
I asked her to cancel her plans and come home. She seemed confused and reminded me that her plans were with someone else and it would be rude to ditch last minute. I told her I wanted to spend the weekend with her and that I’d been missing her. She seemed surprised and said that she’d see me on Sunday night, but she was looking forward to the festival with her ‘friend’ and wanted to go. As a last ditch effort I asked if her friend was more important than me, nearly begging at that point. She must have heard the desperation in my voice, but she just told me that she was already on the road and it was too late.
My fiancé doesn’t like lying but it’s hard to believe this guy was just a friend. Even if she sees him as a friend I know how men think and I doubt he sees her the same way.
She said some other weird stuff before she left about having someone over while she was gone. I don’t get it. How could she just casually invite someone else into our house like that? Has she had other people over? Is she dating now?
I’m not sure what to do. I don’t like that she put this trip over me. Should I talk to her about how bad this makes me feel? Should I call again and tell her to come home more forcefully? Am I blowing all of this out of proportion?
Edit: she doesn’t know that I’ve been seeing Lucy. I haven’t told my fiancé about any of the women I’ve been seeing. (mostly just Lucy and Rachel. I’ve done a lot of texting through apps and gone on a bunch of first place, but most women don’t put out right away and I usually can’t be bothered to get to know them better). Even then, I wouldn’t tell her about lucy. They don’t get along and never have. It would cause a lot of unnecessary drama.
Johnny’s being weird. He wasn’t answering Simon’s texts and he’d skipped chemistry (the only class they had together) and when he’d kicked open the side door leading out of the gym at lunch Johnny hadn’t been there either. The fuck was happening?
Simon had noticed Johnny on his first day, how could you not? He was so different than anyone Simon had ever met. First of all, who moved to Manchester? All he’d ever wanted to do was get away from this hellhole. If not for Tommy he’d have probably split at 16.
Johnny was loud and Scottish and played sport and was handsome and yeah Simon had noticed him before they’d been paired together but had never expected they’d have anything in common
Truthfully Johnny didn’t know any cool bands, he came to school chinos his first week, he’d even been sitting with the popular crowd at first too (since he had immediately made it onto the football team) so Simon was shocked to find that he could draw
The green color pencil illustrated mashup of fire and bone and weaponry currently gracing the front cover of Simon’s school binder was testament to that. They’d been talking about what Johnny should draw for the bottom of Simon’s skateboard (currently layered with stickers) when he’d worked up the nerve to finally kiss him
Sure he’d really only shotgunned the last of the blunt they were sharing into the shocked boys mouth and he’d sort of clacked their teeth together in his efforts but Johnny didn’t pull away. And he wore this very attractive flush on his cheeks right up until Simon walked him back to the head of his street.
The weekend had passed and now that it was 3pm on Monday, Simon was starting to panic. Had he really misread the situation so badly?
…
Football practice ran until 6pm. Simon hung back, to the left side of the stands, lighting up a smoke so he’d have something to do with his hands. He figured it wouldn’t go over too well, especially if Johnny really was cross with him, if he made a point to sit with the players girlfriends on the bleachers. He was starting to get looks just being there at all.
Still, as soon as Johnny saw him he smiled bright as anything and Simon felt like he could fly if he kept looking at him like that
Their next kiss is much better. After everyone clears the pitch, Johnny walks right up to him, pushes him up against the chainlink fence behind the bleachers and kisses the breath out of him. He tastes like blue Gatorade. This time he walks Johnny right up to his front door, clutching his sweaty hand the whole way, and is even invited to stay for supper— Johnny’s relatives are in town so he and his sisters had been signed out for the whole school day (Simon feels like an idiot)
Afterwards they go to up to his room (the door left half way open in respect to Johnny’s Maw) to play some first person shooter game Simon’s family could never have afforded. Johnny also has Guitar Hero and Simon beats his high score on Holiday in Cambodia.
It starts to get late and Simon says he really ought to get home to make sure Tommy’s fed (the only reason he’d ever want to leave truly) and Johnny says he understands.
Johnny walks him back to the street and Simon steals another lingering kiss before sliding off the checkered sweatband from his right wrist and shoving it onto Johnny’s. He wears it from then on.
——
Dedicated to @youredyingthatsallthereis because you enjoyed the last one so much!
A lot of people genuinely believe that permanent disability isn't a thing that happens to good people who work hard and make responsible choices. A lot of people genuinely think that we get the life we work for and deserve. And this is definitely part of the explanation for why ableism is so prevalent
Yep! It’s ableism as promoted by Western religion. That way, you are squashed under their thumb (not God’s, by the way) and in turn made into the perfect follower of the church.
“If I have X it’s because I didn’t do A, B, C well enough. Or, perhaps I’ve done them too often! It seems to change all the time depending on what preacher man wants. If I sign my willpower and life over to a higher power, maybe my disability (read: suffering inflicted upon you by demons for not being a good enough sheep) will lessen!”
i truly use this site in a fundamentally different way from many others sometimes i'll see someone in the tags of a like very serious and politically consequential post they reblogged going "#ummmm hmm i think i disagree but i didn't read the whole thing 😭 #don't mind me just going to shut up and reblog for now #processing bucket #serious stuff tag #a kissaroo from me to queue~" and it's like looking at a new bug under a rock
Simon’s never been home much. Between employments, missions, his usual, everyday routine, he’s never managed to squeeze in time for cooking something nice for himself. Simon’s been living in take-out boxes, or TV dinners scattered around his living room, only to eat their leftovers the next day.
That’s all he knows. All he’s been taught. Perhaps, that’s why he’s so fond of you, too.
He’d brought you over once after a night out together, though you’d declined several times out of politeness.
Upon arriving, his cheeks reddened slightly as you took in the sight before you:
The room was a quiet chaos of convenience—crumpled takeout bags slumped on the counter, their grease stains bleeding through the paper like forgotten memories. Boxes of half-eaten TV dinners lay abandoned on the coffee table, their plastic trays congealed with cold gravy and mashed potatoes that had lost their will to steam. Empty soda cans rolled under the couch, and the faint scent of soy sauce and microwaved meat clung to the air, stale and tired. It looked like someone had been living off the remnants of quick fixes and lonely meals, the kind you eat with a fork in one hand and the remote in the other.
Your eyes finally strayed from the mess, meeting his again.
“…Is this how you, a literal elite lieutenant, live?”
You asked in disbelief, but didn’t let judgement bleed onto your tone, you weren’t one for that.
Ghost’s mouth gaped open as if he’d wanted to say something, but he closed it, having thought better of whatever he was about yo say.
“Uh..well I’m a man of convenience.”
He’d replied. He had this way of always having something to say, no matter the situation he’s in, no matter how ridiculous his reasoning is.
“That’s no excuse for a man like you, Si..”
You spoke, your voice soft, taking that little scolding tone you always had whenever you pitied him.
He wasn’t quite sure wether he liked it or not, having you pity or care about what he did, after all, he was an adult, he knew his way around. But God, if your soft, almost maternal gaze on his didn’t make his heart bleed.
“Tell you what,” — you continued, voice shifting to a more optimistic, persuading tone.
“I’ll teach you how to cook something.”
Teach him how to cook? What was he — a child? Needing your help to do his “chores”? His mind was already brewing the counter argument, but you caught it before he could speak.
“Something simple. Not too difficult but enough to get you to stop living like a divorced father.”
You added, and just to make sure you got under his skin, you placed a warm, encouraging hand on his arm, knowing your skin on his was a slight blind spot of his.
“I mean…” — he began. — “I could use some actual food, but nothing crazy, yeah?”
Again, he tried to be casual about it, but he was glad someone had offered to “pull him out of his misery” and teach him something so simple as cooking.
So, that’s how you ended up like this:
In his kitchen, your slender, precise hand on his, chin on his shoulder as you look over to the sizzling black pan on his stove, trying to make pasta and tomato sauce.
Simon almost looks frightened as you help him stir the tomato sauce on the pan, small droplets of the hot liquid popping up and off the pan, almost hitting your skin.
“Now, for flavour, we add garlic and olive oil..”
Your soothing voice teaches him, but he looks down, slightly uncomfortable at the pan, and you notice.
“…Earth to Simon?”
“Wha — oh, yeah, yeah garlic or olive oil…”
He sighs, back in his Michelin-chef headspace, tightening his hand on the spatula.
You’d already cut up the garlic, small pieces of it on your hand as you gave them to Simon and he plopped them in.
The air was rich and warm, heavy with the scent of garlic sizzling in olive oil, sharp and comforting all at once. Tomato sauce simmered softly, sending up waves of sweet, tangy fragrance, its richness deepened by herbs and a slow bubble. Steam from the boiling spaghetti carried a soft, starchy warmth, wrapping the room in a cozy haze. It smelled like home, like something simple and good was coming together on the stove—a meal made with care, and the kind of hunger that starts just from breathing it in.
“Now Simon, after thoroughly stirring,” — you explain — “ we pour the sauce onto the pasta and gently fold it in, making sure is evenly spread out.”
He followed your instructions step by step, after all, if you were going to teach him how to cook like you’re his mother, he might as well do it right.
Later on, Simon stared at the plate of pasta in front of him, carefully prepped and served to him by you.
The pasta was arranged in a soft spiral, sauce speared perfectly by his very hands, the hands that up until then were ordering take-out for the fifth time this week. A small basil leaf adorned on top of the pasta, just for adding to the effect of appearance.
“Bon appétit.”
You mused, your tone playful and sweet at the same time.
“And the best part is, you made it.”
He looks up at you, an undeniable but sheepish smile gracing his lips, not only proud of himself for finally doing something as trivial but crucial as cooking, but also so bloody grateful for having you in his life, who made this all possible, without even having being told, but out of the kindness of your heart, the one he so badly wanted to nurture.
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